


Spiking the Pot

by Baphrosia (spuffy_luvr)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Cooking, F/M, Fluff, Light-Hearted, Temporary Buffy/Riley, s4, s5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffy_luvr/pseuds/Baphrosia
Summary: Spike's up to something evil, Buffy knows it.  Why else would the other demons be shaking the chipped loser's hand instead of beating him up like normal?  She's going to catch him out, one way or another.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 64





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Short-ish (~12K words) and mostly fluffy, based on a challenge on Elysian Fields by kats_meow. Vaguely late S4 / early S5. 
> 
> Part One (of three). Unbeta'ed, so if you catch anything, let me know.
> 
> Amazing Banner by Pfeifferpack

"Hey Giles, something weird is going on with –"

Buffy fell silent, mouth hanging open as she took in the scene before her. Upon hearing her voice, Giles had lunged for the TV, blocking her view of it. Now he was fumbling to quickly turn the channel, all the while darting furtive glances over his shoulder at her. She caught a snippet of a voice that sounded familiar just before the station switched, but she couldn't place who it might be. Someone male was all that she could make of it.

"Whatcha watchin'?" She wrinkled her nose. "It's not porn, is it? And don't answer that if it is."

The TV now off, Giles stood. He gave her his best stuffy librarian look, arms folded. "Buffy. What are you doing here?"

"Spike."

He jerked, eyes wide, hand flying to his glasses. "Spike? What do you mean, Spike?"

Buffy's frown deepened. Why was her Watcher acting so spazzy? Almost as though he was guilty of something, but what on earth would he have to feel guilty about?

Unless he really had been watching porn. _Ewww_. Big reminder to knock first next time she came by, even when it was only three in the afternoon.

"Something's going on with Spike. I keep running into him all over town –"

"That's hardly unusual."

"And other demons are being _friendly_ with him."

Giles raised an eyebrow.

"Which is unusual. _Totally_ unusual. Normally they're beating him up. Or he's beating them up. Or there's mutual beating of the up. Not mutual handshaking and backslapping. He's up to something evil, Giles, I know it!"

"Ah. Well, I suppose that does seem, erm, suspicious. What do you intend to do about it?"

"I don't know, beat him up for answers? You're supposed to be the one with the smart ideas. Do you think I should beat him up? Or maybe just follow him for a bit?"

Giles cast a mournful glance at his TV.

Buffy huffed. "Giles, focus!" She must've interrupted the good part of his show – not that she wanted to think about just what she might have interrupted. Because _ewwwwww_.

He sighed the sigh of the supremely annoyed. "Why don't you try simply asking him what he's up to?"

"Ask? Spike? And, what, you think he'll tell me the truth? Giles, you're slipping. He's evil! He'll lie on principle. _And_ to annoy me."

"Yes, well, it's worth a shot. Off you go; try it and see what happens. Report back later." He herded her towards the door as he spoke.

Buffy let herself be herded, reminding herself that she really, really didn't want to think too much about why her Watcher might want her gone so badly. She couldn't resist throwing out, "Enjoy your show!" as the door shut, though. It wouldn't be right not to tease him when opportunity presented itself – just so long as she didn't contemplate exactly what she might be teasing him about.

Puffing a breath of air at her bangs, she put it out of her mind and focused on the task at hand. She had evil vampires to beat up.

Or maybe just follow.

*****

"You sure know an awful lot about human food," Bvorle the grenklik demon said as he laid down a pair of jacks. Grenkliks looked like a cross between a psychedelic raven and an octopus gone wrong, but they always played a good game. Better than the Fyarl whose place Bvorle had taken an hour earlier. Better kittens, too.

Wearing his best poker face, Spike carefully slithered the king of hearts out of his sleeve and into his hand. "Just appreciate food of all sorts is all," he said with an indifferent shrug. He played the liberated king, and then the other king that he'd been legitimately dealt. "Variety is the spice of unlife an' all that."

"I, for one, did not realize there were so many varieties of Buffalo wings," said Clem, saggy jowls swaying in time with his words. "And I'm no stranger to Buffalo wings!"

Clem was no stranger to any kind of food, so far as Spike could tell. "Well, they're not always called _Buffalo_ wings. That's where the confusion comes from, I expect. Bet I've tried a hundred different varieties of wings. You got your spicy varieties – I already covered those – and then you got your –"

"Say, I got an idea," Bvorle cut in. "My wife's cousin, Tash? She's the host of _Talking With Tash_ on HELL-O TV." At Spike's blank look, he added, "You know, Channel 13? The demon public access channel?"

Clem's wattles flopped enthusiastically. "That's a great show. Never miss it. Tash is a real class act."

"Thanks, Clem. She'll be happy to hear it."

Clem beamed at him.

"Anyhow, Tash was talking to my wife this afternoon. And she said that one of her guests tomorrow cancelled last minute, and she's having a hard time finding a replacement."

"How awful for her," Spike muttered, holding back an eye roll. What the hell did he care?

"So you could be her guest!"

Spike stared at the grenklik, sure he'd heard wrong.

Clem crowed. "You're a genius, Bvorle! Oh Spike, buddy, I can't wait to say I knew you when!"

"You want me to… go on a talk show?"

The other two nodded, grinning at him and each other.

"I'm a sodding vampire!"

"Don't worry, she won't hold it against you. She's real welcoming, Tash is," said Bvorle.

"The fuck would I talk about?"

Clem leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes intent and focused amidst the wrinkles. "Food! Human food, vampire food. Wings, bloomin' onions… You'll be great, buddy!"

"Yeah, Spike the amazing talk show vampire. That'll happen," Spike said with a scoff. Using two fingers, he tapped his kings with more force than necessary, rocking table so the others had to grab for their markers. "Are we gonna finish this game or what, gents?"

*****

"So, this afternoon at three?" Buffy said to Xander.

"Absolutely, I'll meet you at… or, um, wait. Can it be later? Like, after four?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Why, important plans?"

"That's when –" Anya began.

Xander spoke right over her. "Sex! That's when we'll be having the sex!" he said loudly. He giggled, high-pitched and stuttery. "Yep, sex!"

Anya frowned at him. "But I thought we were going to watch _Spi_ -"

"Porn! Because, to get in the mood for sex. Did I mention the sex?"

"I think you covered it," Buffy said dryly, wondering why Xander's forehead was beading with sweat. And why he'd suddenly taken over Anya's job of _waaaaay_ oversharing.

Maybe he was trying out some sort of reverse psychology thing on her? Mentioning it first and loudest to get her to see how awkward it was for everyone else? Buffy doubted it would work if that was the case.

"Why don't we go have sex now?" Anya said, immediately validating Buffy's prediction of lost causes. "And then we'll have time to watch _Spiking the Pot_ when it comes on at three."

Xander's expression grew wilder, his voice higher. "Sure, we can watch the _porn video_ later, at three."

"What porn video? Xander, what are you –"

"Time to have sex! Got to go!" he said loudly, grabbing Anya by the hand and towing her away.

Buffy stared at the slamming door, bemused. "Okey-dokey, then. See you at… four."

*****

"Well, Tash, that's the trick, you see. It's easy to be a gourmet when you're getting your meals on tap. The real skill's with taking something bland, something like bagged pig's blood, and turning it into a dish you wouldn't be ashamed to serve at your next dinner party. Burba weed, Weetabix, vodka and tomato juice – the choices are endless." Spike sucked his teeth to make a smacking noise. "You need a sense of what will add texture and flavor, not just cover up the taste."

Tash walked over to a vampire in the studio audience who was squirming in her seat and waving her hand, trying to get the host's attention. "Do you have something you'd like to add, Sandy?"

Sandy nodded and grabbed the microphone. "You are _so_ right. I mean, we can't eat fillet mignon every day." She smiled brightly, fangs gleaming in the brilliant lights. "There are times when you have to bag it, but I'm not dreading the lean times anymore thanks to Spike. He's given me a whole new way of looking at it. It's like… like turning plain ground beef into a big ol' delicious bacon cheeseburger!"

Tash nodded thoughtfully, crest bobbing up and down. "You're starting from the same place, but ending up with something totally different. Spicing it up." She turned and gave Spike a megawatt smile. " _Spiking_ it up."

He laughed. "That I am, love. That I am."

"So what other tips do you have to share with us? Any more favorite recipes?"

Smiling enigmatically, he said, "Now, now, Tash. Can't be giving away all my secrets on the first date, can I? I'm not that easy, I'll have you know."

"Ooooh, what do you say, audience? Shall we invite Spike back again and hear more of his secrets?"

*****

Buffy blinked in confusion as her mom stopped stirring the hot chocolate on the stove to jot something down on her notepad. _Again_.

"What are you doing, Mom?"

"Oh, just writing down how I make my special hot chocolate. Getting the recipe on paper."

"But… why?" Her mom had always made hot chocolate by scent and instinct for as long as Buffy could remember. Why would she need to write it down now?

Another stir, a dash of cinnamon, another notation. "Hmm? Oh, it's for Spike. He asked for the recipe. Remind me to count how many marshmallows I add, will you?"

Buffy's frown deepened. "You're doing this for… Spike? Are you holding some kind of recipe exchange? What are you going to get in return, his Bourbon-and-Blood recipe?"

Her mom looked up at that, and shuddered out a grimacing laugh. "That is what I'd get, isn't it? No, no exchange, thank goodness. He likes my hot chocolate and asked for the recipe, so I'm giving it to him. That's all." She turned back to the stove.

"Oh."

_And here I thought you were making hot chocolate for me because you missed me. Stupid Spike, ruining even my hot chocolate_.

Buffy could feel her mouth turning downward in a pout even as she told herself she was being ridiculous and to stop it. Her mom had some sort of weird, semi-affectionate relationship with the neutered vampire and could trade – or just give – him recipes all she wanted. It wasn't hurting anybody, least of all Buffy.

Once again, she pondered the mystery of what the chipped loser had been up to lately. She'd tried asking him, per Giles' suggestion, but that had gone exactly as she'd predicted. Spike had insulted her, or so she thought – she still didn't know the meaning of half the words he used when he was trying to annoy her – and his non-answer had left her just as ignorant of his activities as before.

And that was why she usually ignored Giles' advice. She'd only asked him to make him feel useful, as though he was still contributing to the cause of the Slayer. Buffy briefly wondered if she ought to try harder; yesterday, she'd caught him attempting to make one of those onion blossom thingies they served at the Bronze. Giles trying his hand at deep fat fried breaded onions definitely suggested too much time on his now oil-splattered and burnt hands.

After the spectacular failure of straight up asking Spike what he'd been up to, she'd gone with her original idea of following him around – unfortunately, with just as little success. He spent his nights either in his crypt or playing cards in Willy's back room, and neither typical-for-Spike activity pointed to a grand evil plan.

Buffy didn't want to waste her visit home talking – or thinking – about Spike, though. He occupied far too much of her time as it was. "So what's going on at the gallery?"

*****

"And now for our new weekly guest spot! That's right, ladies, the vampire you've all been waiting – wow, talk about an enthusiastic crowd! Okay, settle… settle down. Settle… _thank_ you! He's here to share his recipe of the week. What do you have for us today, Spike?"

"Well, Tash, I got the idea for this recipe from Willy, if you can believe it."

"Oooh, sounds interesting. Tell us more!"

*****

"Okay, now taste this!" Dawn held a spoon out to Buffy, eyes hopeful.

Buffy took the spoon, hoping the trepidation she felt didn't show on her face, but after the peanut butter and pickle quesadilla fiasco… Feigning enthusiasm, she popped the spoon in her mouth and swallowed the dark red substance down before she could chicken out.

"Eeeuuuuaaahhhh!" she gasped, eyes streaming, ears ringing, throat convulsing. "Gaaaahhhh! Water! Waaaaater!" She shoved Dawn aside and sprinted for the sink, then stuck her entire face under the tap to gulp at the stream of life-saving liquid.

Once Buffy had returned to an upright position, Dawn said, "Too much cayenne?" The way she held out the carton of milk with a look of silent apology, cringing as Buffy snatched it away from her, was the only thing that saved her from a Slayer-strength smack upside the head.

Desperately trying to remain calm despite the continued tearing of her eyes and the nuclear fire in her mouth, Buffy said, "It depends. Are you trying to kill someone?"

Dawn's wince deepened. "No? I was going to enter a cooking show recipe contest."

"What cooking show?"

"It's, um – it's a locally produced show. _Spiking the Pot_."

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "I thought that was a porno."

" _What?_ "

"What?" she repeated, belatedly remembering that she was talking to her _kid_ sister. Time for a topic change, stat. "So, a cooking show competition, huh? I think the secret to winning probably includes _not_ melting the judges eyeballs in their sockets. I'd suggest cutting back on the cayenne to amounts reasonable for human taste buds."

"But it's not meant for hu- uh, right. Cut back on the spice to levels acceptable to human taste buds: check. So, do you think it's any good? Except for the heat levels?"

"Dawn, I'm still trying to unstick my tongue from my sinuses. I couldn't tell you what I ate; I couldn't taste anything other than _oh-my-god-I'm-gonna-die_ hot. Was there even anything else on that spoon besides cayenne? 'Cause I think that's all there was. Just straight cayenne. Like, an entire cayenne tree."

"Cayenne doesn't come from a tree, dumbo," Dawn said sulkily. But the corners of her mouth turned upwards in a laugh she couldn't quite hide.

*****

"You bastard!" Bvorle said again, his crest flashing between pine green and magenta, faster and faster. "You _traitorous_ bastard!"

"Look, it's not my fault," said Spike, his stupid treacherous emotions edging towards guilt despite his bluster. But it _wasn't_ his fault. And he was a bloody vampire, so sod it, he was _not_ going to be overcome by guilt for something he'd had no control over. Not one bit.

Bvorle advanced on him. "You were just supposed to be a substitute guest! Not steal her entire show! Tash is so heartbroken, her spines have all fallen out. How dare you show your face here you – you – you _bastard!_ "

"Back off," Spike said with a menacing growl. He liked Bvorle, but it didn't mean he wouldn't feed the grenklik his own frilly crest before snapping his neck.

Bvorle tensed further, like he was gearing up for a fight despite his guaranteed loss. After a long moment fraught with tension, he threw his hands up with a snort of disgust. "You're not worth it," he spat, and stormed out.

Spike sighed, and ignored the squiggle of guilt in his stomach.

Not. His. Fault.

He turned to Clem, who'd regarded the exchange with atypical silence and was now staring after the retreating grenklik with sad, droopy eyes. The squiggle in Spike's stomach grew into a whole pack of squiggles. "I didn't know, all right? They asked me if I wanted my own show. They didn't say anything about replacing hers. I ain't done nothing wrong, so don't look at me like that."

Clem shrugged. "I know, buddy. Just… you better do your best, you know? Make Tash losing her show worth it."

Spike sighed again.

A short, squat, wart-covered demon approached from across the room. "So you're Spike. Our new midnight primetime star."

"Who the hell are you?"

The demon stuck out his hand. "Gary. Glad to hear you've replaced that snooty bitch; she deserved it. I've got HELL-O's three o'clock spot, by the way –"

Spike took the demon's hand and used it to yank him closer. With a furious snarl, he snapped squat-and-ugly's neck and let him flop to the ground. "Not anymore, you don't."

*****

This time, Buffy was going to catch Spike in whatever he needed catching at. Following him at night had been a bust, other than the sight of him autographing something for a giddily appreciative girl at the Bronze the night before. A _human_ girl. If he wasn't up to no good at night, it followed that it was time to monitor his daytime activities. She slammed her way into Spike's crypt at two in the afternoon, fingers itching to catch the pesky vampire about the neck and slam him up against the wall.

Except –

He wasn't there.

"Really?" she said to the still crypt air, after thoroughly investigating the downstairs and determining that there were definitely no vampires about.

With a sigh of annoyance, Buffy sat herself atop the sarcophagus and settled in to wait.

And wait…

And wait…

And wait.

She'd fallen into a light doze by the time he returned, the slow creaking of the crypt door startling her to alertness. Buffy peeked at her watch and did a double take when she saw the time: two in the morning!

"Crap!" She'd totally missed her patrol date with Riley. She turned her ire on the vampire sidling into his crypt. "Where have you been?"

Spike shrugged. "Out and about. Getting myself a snack." He hoisted the paper bag in his arm. Annoyance creeping into his posture and tone, he added, "What's it to you?"

Buffy clenched her hands into fists. One good punch… But Riley was probably in the middle of a major freakout; interrogating Spike would have to wait. "I'm on to you," she said, marching past him with what she hoped was a sufficient amount of menace to remind him he ought to be very, very afraid of the Slayer. "And I'll be back."

He only leered at her, tongue curled, eyebrows waggling. "Promise?"

Fists clenched tighter, Buffy whirled to plant one to Spike's nose.

She was already three hours late. What was a few minutes more?


	2. Part Two

"Right," Spike said, and forced down the slippery, stark fear slithering its way up his esophagus. "Welcome, ladies. Gents. Others. If you're here for Gary's bit, well, too bad. This spot's all mine from here on out."

The cameraman caught his attention, rolling his finger in a prompting motion.

"Oh, right. Name of the show's _Spiking the Pot_. An' I'm your host, Spike."

There was a smattering of applause from the studio audience, and a few catcalls from some of the female audience members. Spike smiled their way, hoping it didn't look as sickly as it felt.

"So… let's get started. Today we'll be talking about the Top Ten Best Ways to Spice Up Your Meal, be it blood or yak urine. And then we'll do a review of a local eatery, and finish off with our Recipe of the Day. Uh…"

_Take a deep breath, you bloody tosser. Literal and Metaphorical. And get to making Tash proud._

*****

"I mean," Buffy said, arms thrown overhead in frustration as she stepped around a gravestone, "how hard can it be to catch him out? It's Spike. Lame-ass, not-nearly-so-smart-as-he-thinks-he-is _Spike_."

"Uhh…"

"Why can't I –" She cut herself short. "Sorry. I'm boring you, aren't I."

Riley shrugged, his grimace apologetic. "It's just that you've covered the topic in detail. Excruciating detail, even."

Buffy reigned in the rest of her diatribe, vowing to be a more considerate girlfriend. Spike wasn't Riley's favorite subject even under the best of circumstances, and she could admit he'd been her main topic of conversation for days now. Not to mention that Riley had been especially touchy about Spike ever since she'd accidentally stood him up the other night when waiting around for the stupid vampire.

Time to start with the consideration. "Right. Sorry. So, what did you do today?" she said brightly.

Riley's scowl deepened to something resentful. "Oh, I had a great day. Sat around and watched daytime TV. A very scintillating and important pastime."

Okay, not the best conversational gambit, but she couldn't come up with another so this would have to do.

Before she could think of anything more to say, Riley added, "You know, speaking of…" He curled his lip. "There are some cooking shows you might find interesting."

"Cooking…" Well, that was unexpected. But if he was interested in cooking shows, she could be a good girlfriend and talk about cooking shows. Who was that guy her aunt had been going on about? The _bam!_ guy? "My aunt Darlene really likes that one cooking show. With the _kick it up a notch_ guy? Where's he from, Louisiana?"

Riley's expression grew more sour. "I was thinking of something closer to home. Filmed locally, even."

The crease between her eyebrows deepening, Buffy wondered why discussing his new hobby was making her boyfriend so grumpy. She was determined to keep the conversation going, though. Otherwise she'd revert to complaining about he-who-must-not-be-named, at least, not named around Riley. "Oh, yeah, Dawn was telling me about it. _Spiking the Pot_ , I think she called it?"

"Yeah, that one. You should check it out. I think you'll find it very informative."

He sounded as if it was the last thing he wanted her to do. Which was weird. Maybe he wanted to keep his new hobby to himself?

"I'll, um…" Crap, did he want her to agree or not? And, hey – _very_ _informative_. What was that about? Had her boyfriend just insulted her cooking skills?

The trees to the right shivered, and Buffy caught a pair of orange eyes amongst the foliage. Thank god, saved by the demon. She dropped into a defensive stance. "Riley! Four o'clock!"

*****

"Yeah, you like that? Good, isn't it?" Spike said to the Hellion appreciatively slurping from its cup. He passed out the remaining samples to the last of the front row guests, then returned to his countertop to lean one hip against it, arms folded across his chest.

When the audience had settled back into contented quiet, he said, "The lady who gave me that recipe? Makes it even better, if you can believe it. Think the difference is that she makes it with _love_."

Some of the other demons nodded thoughtfully.

"Lady's got nothing but love in her heart, and it shows in everything she does. Every meal she makes. Even something as simple as hot chocolate." Spike met the varied eyes of his audience, and began his ending spiel for the day. "We all need food, every one of us. Well, 'cept chlorophyllines; all they need is sun."

The audience tittered.

"The point is we need food, and us sentient sorts want _good_ food. It matters, what we eat. We need food to make us strong, make us hard. We need _good_ food to make us happy. But there's something even more important than food for all of us – human, demon, sentient plantlife – there's something else we need to thrive. To be _complete_."

Spike paused, gaze going unfocused with the sudden realization that his clever line wasn't just a line. He _meant_ it. Thoughts turning from Joyce to her daughter, he said quickly, past the catch in his throat, "More than food, what we all need is _love_."

*****

Buffy watched the small crowd of excited, chattering women – and a few men too – trickle out, books in hand, and then she turned to the display they'd ravaged like locusts, wondering what all the fuss was about.

"Oh, that book is very popular," Anya said. "A real best seller."

"I'd noticed," Buffy said dryly, turning the lone remaining book over in her hands. The glossy white cover featured a large, stainless steel stockpot with the words _Spiking the Pot_ embossed across it in bold, red letters.

"That's a signed copy, too."

"Really?" Buffy opened the cover to check out the signature, but she couldn't make heads or tails of the careless scrawl. She flipped to the inside back jacket to examine the author's photo, but there wasn't one. "Signed by who?" she murmured, studying the front cover again for its limited clues.

Apparently Anya had heard her question and thought it non-rhetorical. "By –" She huffed out a disgusted snort. "Xander said I'm not allowed to discuss it with you."

Startled, Buffy paused mid-flip of the book. She'd been turning the spine face-up to find the author's name, but now she snapped her gaze to Anya's peeved visage. "Why not?"

Anya threw her hands up. "I don't know! It's not like you're not going to find –"

"Hullo, ladies," Spike said loudly, swaggering in from the rear of the shop. He nodded to the hardback in Buffy's hand, hawk-like eyes focused on hers with steely blue intensity. "Whatcha got there, Slayer?"

Buffy dropped the book back on the table without another glance, and folded her arms across her chest to glare at the vampire. "What are you doing? And here, Spike?"

He kept his gaze fixed on hers, his expression oddly hopeful. When she only deepened her glare and added an impatient tap-tap-tapping of her foot, he drew himself up with a sneer and pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket. "Paying customer, sweetheart."

Taking a step towards Anya and the cash register, he said brusquely, "My order ready?" At her nod, he pivoted to the book display to pick up the last copy of _Spiking the Pot_. "Think I'll take one of these too, love," he said over his shoulder to Anya. Still next to Buffy, he leaned into her space, head cocked and breath held, intent gaze searching her face once more.

Weirded out by Spike and his increasingly wig-inducing demeanor, not to mention by how close he was to her – he was so up in her space, all she could smell was _Eau de_ _Spike_ , which was not nearly so unpleasant as she wanted it to be – Buffy turned away with a barked, "Personal space, Spike. Look into it!"

Stalking toward the back room, she called back to Anya, "I'll be in the training room if anybody needs me."

She _so_ was going to imagine the punching bag as Spike's face while she was in there.

*****

"Got a special treat today for both my audience here and the viewers at home, to mark the first month anniversary of _Spiking the Pot_." Spike waited until all eyes were riveted on him, then said, "I'd like to welcome today's guest, the star of HELL-O TV's midnight talk show, and the lady who gave me my start in television. Please welcome the host of _Talking with Tash_ : the beautiful and sophisticated… Tash!"

The audience erupted with enthusiastic applause and hoots.

Tash walked onto the set, beaming, and offered Spike her hand. "It's a true pleasure, sweetie. But we've got one more surprise for you all."

"We sure do. I'd like to announce our very first _Talking with Tash_ and _Spiking the Pot_ joint recipe contest!"

The crowd went even wilder. When they'd finally settled, Tash said, "Now, here's how it's going to work, friends…"

*****

The way Spike froze at the corner of Revello and Lyman, eyes darting left and right as though searching for an escape route, had Buffy barreling down her front steps and sidewalk to crash him into a lamppost before he could flee.

"Oi, mind the goods!" he squawked, thrusting out an arm to shift a branded Williams & Sonoma bag to the side, away from their scuffle.

"Spike. What are you doing here?" She snatched the bulging bag from him as she spoke, and pivoted out of his reach. "And what is this? Why do you have…" Buffy stared down at the bottle in her hand, speechless.

"Hey! Give it!"

His lunge snapped her out of her stupor, and she spun away again. Sliding the bottle back into the bag, she felt around for the next object, eyes glued to Spike's stormy expression. "My mom's favorite wine. You wanna explain?"

"It's a thank you gift," he said with a sullen sniff. "For helping me with the hot chocolate recipe."

"And this?"

Spike's expression turned decidedly embarrassed. "Ah, yeah. That. It's a George Foreman Grill."

"I can see that from the box. What are _you_ doing with it? Going to low-fat grill your blood?"

Defiant now, he said, "It's for Dawn. Thought she might like it, what with all the kitchen experimenting she does."

Buffy stared at him. "Since when do you buy my sister presents?"

He shrugged. "Can't get a prezzie for mum and not bring one for the little bit too."

"Fine. Miss Manners taught you well." She wasn't going to push that train of thought any further, else there was a good chance her head might explode. Spike had always been weird; best to accept his apparent mastery of gift-giving etiquette and move right along. Buffy traded the grill for the next item in the bag, which looked something like a metal PlayDoh press. "And this… thing?"

His lips twitched as though he was trying not to laugh. "It's a ricer, love."

Refusing to be provoked, Buffy raised her eyebrows and waited.

"Wanted a ricer, didn't you? Last Thanksgiving?"

"You're… bringing me presents too?" She wasn't sure which was more wigsome – that he thought they were some kind of thoughtful present-exchanging buddies, or that he'd even remembered her quest for a ricer from a year ago.

Spike just shrugged. "Saw it when I was getting the other, an'... Don't make a thing of it, alright?"

Buffy decided to ignore the weirdness of Jolly Old Saint Spike and focus on the parts relevant to her duty as Slayer. "You can't be giving my family stolen gifts, William."

He drew himself up, affronted. "Not stolen!"

"Okay, bought with stolen money!"

"Paid for fair and square, with honest wages." He raised his eyebrows, daring her to find a comeback.

She couldn't, damn him. Not without resorting to something petty, and especially not since he was such a dreadful liar that she knew he was telling the truth and thus couldn't even accuse him of dishonesty. A part of her wanted to ask just how he'd come by honest wages – did he think gambling counted as honest? He probably did – but despite his current tell-all attitude, she didn't think he'd answer that. "And this?" She brandished the final item in his bag.

"That's for me, love."

Buffy turned the long, corded, cylindrical object over in her hands, examining it with a scoff. "An immersion blender?"

"Ooh, Betty knows her Crocker. Didn't peg you for the domestic goddess gig."

"I'm a woman of many talents, buster." _And the daughter of a woman who owns this exact same gadget._ "Okay, I'll bite. What the hell do you want with an immersion blender?"

His smile turned suggestive, tongue tracing his teeth. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

For a split second, her brain tried to work out what he could possibly be implying. Buffy shut that train of thought down with a firm _ewww_. "Not that much, apparently."

She thrust his bag and immersion blender back at him without any further comeback. Her automatic instinct was to thank him for the gifts – Miss Manners, aka Mom, had also taught her well – but thanking evil vampires, especially _Spike_ , was so far outside of the realm of normal she couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Dawn will be thrilled," she said in compromise. "And Mom."

"And you?" He had that oddly hopeful look again, the one Buffy didn't want to contemplate too closely. Taking the ricer from the bag and offering it to her with a cautious, hesitant mien, he said, "You like your prezzie too?"

Did the Slayer handbook cover moments like this? Buffy was pretty sure it didn't. "Yes." She still couldn't force out a _thank you_ , but she accepted the ricer with a genuine smile and hoped Spike could infer her thanks from that.

He gave her a sharp little nod and a half-smile, and moved past her towards the house.

_Damnit, damnit, damnit._ Why did her conscience have to be so conscientious?

"Spike," she called as he mounted the steps to her porch.

"Yeah, Slayer?" He turned back to face her.

She held up the ricer. "Thanks."

His answering smile was as genuine as hers. Buffy headed off down the sidewalk at almost a run, before the warm and happy feeling that Spike's boyish, carefree smile had engendered in her could establish itself too firmly.

*****

Spike took a sip of his scotch while he read through the recipe contest submission one more time, wondering what to do with this particular entry. The recipe didn't deserve to win in any category; it was, in a word, awful.

But it was also the submission of one Dawn Summers, and Spike didn't have the heart to dash her dreams and bruise her tender teenaged heart.

He picked up the phone and punched in a number, and when he got a _hello_ on the other end he said without preamble, "Can we add a last-minute bonus category to this month's contest?"

His producer _hmmed_. "Don't see any reason why not. Whatcha thinking?"

"Most Creative?"

"I'd go with Most Original."

"Done," said Spike, and hung up.

Taking another sip of his scotch, he pondered whether a teenager could even win the contest. Decades of hearing the fine print at the end of radio and television contest offers had him doubting the legality of underage winners. Then again, this was a demon-hosted contest and not subject to human law…

With a shake of his head, Spike had to wonder why he even gave half a toss whether an erstwhile snackfood's feelings were hurt. He couldn't lie to himself that it was a side effect of being a television show host whose implicit goal was to make the viewers happy; he'd gone soft long before this gig, especially for anything and everything Summers-shaped. He could finally acknowledge that sad truth, despite having refused to admit Dru's proclamation had any veracity until recently.

So fine; he'd gone soft. Still didn't answer the question of whether Dawn could legally claim a prize. Maybe knowing she'd 'won' would be prize enough?

Or maybe…

Spike was all set to ignore the sudden inspiration that had come to him. It would almost certainly upset the girl.

Then again, just because he'd gone soft didn't mean he was anything other than evil. He gave it another moment's thought and, with a self-satisfied little chuckle, got to work drafting a letter of congratulations addressed to one Miss Dawn Summers.

*****

"I won! _Omigodomigod_ I won!"

Buffy massaged her aching eardrums, and offered Dawn a weak smile. "Won what?"

"That cooking contest. Remember?" She waved the letter she'd been reading in Buffy's face. "It says here I won for Most Original Recipe. Oooh, and the prize is an evening with the host of _Spiking the Pot_ , including an exclusive five-course dinner at _La Rue_."

"Well, congratulations, Dawnie."

Dawn nodded absently, continuing to read: "'For legal reasons, this prize may not be claimed by a minor.' Wait, what? Not by a… what a fink! He _knows_ I'm a minor!"

Buffy immediately bristled, protective anger surging through her. "How does he – whoever _he_ is – know you're a minor?"

But Dawn was too caught up in her own distressed outrage to pay heed. "If the winning contestant is under eighteen years of age, this voucher may be gifted to a family member… for example, an older sister…" She trailed off, her expression murderous.

"Dawn. How does this _he_ know that you're a minor?"

Her little sister finally looked up, eyes narrowed. "You still haven't seen _Spiking the Pot_ , have you?"

Buffy shook her head. "I keep meaning to." With a shrug, she added, "But I never seem to find the time."

Dawn laughed, but it was an angry, bitter laugh, far from amused. Reading from her letter again, she said tightly, "'For example, an older sister… ' Oh buddy, you are way too transparent."

"What are you talking about?"

For a long moment, Dawn didn't answer. Her furious scowl faded, to be replaced by a shake of her head and a snort. With a forced smile, she said, "Congratulations, Buffy. You've won dinner at _La Rue._ I think you'll really enjoy it!"

"What? _Wait_ , what?"

Dawn handed her the small rectangle of thick card stock that had been included with her letter. "Present this voucher at _La Rue_ this Friday at eight p.m. As a minor, I can't claim the prize. But it says right here that a family member – _you_ – can. So go have fun for me."

Buffy stared at the voucher without really seeing it. "But…"

"Oh, come on! Free dinner at the most exclusive, expensive restaurant in town! Why are you even hesitating?"

"Because, as we've established, I don't know who this host is –"

"It's one evening. No commitments. Very public place, nothing to worry about –"

"And Riley –"

And Riley, what? Buffy wasn't sure how to end that. Riley was certain to be jealous, but whether he'd be jealous that she'd be having dinner with another man or jealous that she'd be having dinner with the host of his new favorite cooking show was up for debate.

More importantly: "Riley and I usually spend Friday nights at the Bronze."

"It's one night. One night and a dining experience you can't possibly pass up! Cancel any plans with Riley and go. For me?" Dawn gave her the Bambi eyes. "And just think: a total excuse to dress up. Get new shoes, get your hair done, the works!"

"I don't know… Maybe Mom should go. She loves _La Rue_."

"Yeah, but the last time she went, it was with Ted." They both scowled at the memory of the evil robot who'd tried to make their mom his bridal slave. Dawn continued: "I don't think she'll want to go back. You've never been, so no bad memories there. And if I can't go, I want it to be you. You totally deserve it, Buffy."

Had her little sister been taking salesmanship courses? Dawn's sales pitch was definitely wearing her down. Her reasons for declining seemed trivial in the face of Dawn's rebuttals, and she couldn't seem to come up with anything more substantial.

She sighed in defeat. "Who is this guy that I'm going to be having dinner with?" There was a small, insensitive and bad-girlfriend-y part of her that was glad to have an excuse to cancel on Riley. Ever since the Initiative had abandoned Sunnydale, his moods had been wildly unpredictable and often annoying. Not the best Friday night date material, that was for sure. Dinner with another man was hardly likely to be any more uncomfortable.

"The host of _Spiking the Pot_ ," Dawn said, the _duh_ implied.

"I _know_ that, brat. I mean: do I know him?"

Dawn shrugged, busying herself with tucking the letter in her hand back into its envelope. "I guess you'll find out when you get there." She glanced at her watch, and darted off with a squealed, "Oh no, I'm supposed to be meeting Janice in ten. Gotta go!"

Buffy stared after her, wondering what she'd agreed to and wishing her little sister hadn't disappeared so quickly. She still had questions, dammit. Dropping her gaze to the voucher, she read the tasteful inscription, and sighed again. As Dawn had said, free dinner. Maybe it was better not to look a gift horse too closely in the mouth.

She wrinkled her nose. _Look a gift horse in the mouth._ What did that even mean?


	3. Part Three

"Good evening, sir," said Pierre. "Your guest has arrived, and your table is ready."

Spike caught sight of Buffy at the bar, as he'd requested. He'd even arrived a few minutes late to ensure she'd be already there and waiting. To Pierre, he said, "Give us a second, will you, before you seat us?"

Pierre nodded his understanding, and Spike made his way closer to where Buffy was seated. He took a moment to find her in the mirror behind the bar and drink in the sight of her. She looked absolutely ravishing in her cocktail dress and heels, with her hair done up and a few tendrils escaping down the nape of her neck. He could see her, but she couldn't see him – she didn't even know he was there – and it allowed him to catch a rare glimpse of the girl unguarded and, if not relaxed, at least not uptight. This moment, right here, might be as pleasant as his evening would get.

Spike had to swallow several times before he felt composed enough to approach.

"Hullo, love," he said from beside her shoulder. "You're looking quite the treat tonight."

She spun to face him, shoulders tensing. Her eyes went wide and appreciative as she took in his charcoal grey suit but she quickly marshalled her surprise, lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

"What do you do, go out of your way to stalk me?" she hissed, eyes darting around the room. "I'm waiting for someone; go away, please."

"Oh yeah? Who you waiting on, then?" He casually leaned a hip against the bar, trying to suppress the smirk he could feel threatening to escape.

"None of your business. I'm serious, Spike, I don't have time for you right now!"

Pierre appeared at their side. "Sir. Madam. If you'd like to follow me to your table?"

Buffy opened her mouth, probably to protest that Spike wasn't the person she was waiting on, but then she caught sight of the grin he couldn't suppress any longer. He saw the moment she put it all together, shock, embarrassment, and anger flashing across her face in quick succession.

She opened her mouth again, and then, with a glance around at the other patrons seated in quiet intimacy, enjoying a pleasant evening out, she shut it with a click. As she got to her feet, she threw a glare his way that promised retribution.

When they'd been seated and the waiter had left, she dropped her menu and her docile mien to glare at him once more. "What the hell? _You're_ the mysterious host of a _cooking_ show? Is this some kind of joke?"

"Not so mysterious as all that. Been on the telly for months now. In the bookstores now, too. A good percentage of Sunnydale knows who I am. Even your chums know – hell, even your kid _sis_ knows – what I've been up to. So the real question is how come you don't?"

"I've asked you," she said stiffly. "You lied to me. Multiple times. And apparently nobody else saw fit to tell me the truth, either." Her lower lip trembled at that, and Spike kicked himself for being an ass. He was here to win her heart, after all, not piss her off.

He'd have to work at that. Pissing her off was his default mode, and not just because he was evil. A properly riled Slayer was one of his favorite sights in the world, glorious to behold in all her righteous fury. Right now, though...

"Didn't want you to laugh at me. At first," he said, offering her one reason for his reticence. "And then I suppose it became something of a game. See how famous I could get before you twigged to it. Don't know what to tell you about your mates, though," he said with a shrug. "Their reasons are their own. Denial, maybe. 'Sides, it's not like I was doing anything evil that needed tattling."

Buffy pursed her lips, her eyes still narrowed, but her glare focused past him now. "No, but they knew I was worried about what you were up to… I guess Riley did try to tell me, although not in any way that was actually helpful…"

 _Bloody overgrown wanker._ But since Spike couldn't kill the pillock – not that killing the Slayer's boyfriend would endear him to her in any way – he'd have to settle for stealing his girl away fair and square.

With a shake of her head, she focused her gaze back on him and huffed out a dry laugh. " _Spiking_ the pot," she said with a roll of her eyes. "This answers so many questions. How did I not put it together before now?"

"Not exactly an obvious leap. Vampire to celebrity cooking show host, hey?"

A snorted giggle escaped her, and she took a sip of her water to cover. "Yeah, kinda the very last thing I would've guessed."

"To be fair, it's been a huge surprise to me, too. Wasn't a direction I expected to go."

"I'll bet. How did it even happen? I've never caught your show. Obviously. I've been meaning to – I'd totally planned on watching today, before I came here – but something always comes up."

Spike waved a hand in dismissal of her implied apology, but inwardly he was grinning. He'd run through a thousand different scenarios for how tonight might go, and most of them had ended with a punch to his nose if not a stake to his heart. Buffy hadn't fallen into his arms, dazed and starstruck (scenario number sixty-three, with a probability of less than a tenth of a percent), but this was even better because her friendly interest, though mostly polite at this point, was _real_.

*****

Buffy glanced surreptitiously around the restaurant, wondering if anybody would notice if she picked up her plate to lick it clean. Probably, she decided with a disappointed pout. Dinner had been just that good, though; certainly worth any company she'd had to endure for the evening, even Spike's.

Except… he hadn't been that awful. If she was honest, she had to admit Spike had been pleasant company. Charming, articulate, entertaining… Buffy paused her contemplation a moment to admire just how nice he looked, too, in a suit and silk tie instead of his usual black denim and leather. No, dinner with Spike tonight had not been any kind of a hardship. If he'd been anyone else, she'd have been hoping to be asked for a second date.

The chef stopped by their table to inquire how they'd enjoyed their dinner and express his appreciation for Spike's patronage, and Buffy couldn't help but wonder at the absurdity of it all. Somehow, without her noticing, the vicious punk vampire who'd rolled into town to kill her three years ago had remade himself into a respected – and possibly even respectable – member of their community. Honest wages, indeed.

"So, are you an honest man now?" she said once the chef had left.

Spike froze, drink halfway to his mouth, expression comically stunned. "Uhhh…"

"I mean…" She waved her hand at the restaurant, then at him. "None of this screams evil vampire. More like respected businessman. And you'd told me you were earning honest wages. So…"

"'M not honest. I'm _evil_ ," he said, but it was more petulant than convincing.

She didn't think he'd convinced even himself, based on his perturbed frown. "You're not a man, either," she said lightly, trying to jolly him back into the friendly camaraderie they'd been sharing. Deep philosophical conversation with Spike was _waaaay_ off-limits.

Except his frown deepened, and he looked… hurt.

It took Buffy a moment to realize what that squiggly feeling in the pit of her stomach was. She wasn't used to feeling guilty over something she'd said to _Spike_ , after all. She wasn't used to thinking of him as having feelings, period, and definitely not ones that she could hurt.

"Lucky for you," she went on quickly, her mouth running ahead of her as she tried to talk her way around the foot she'd shoved in there, "that you're not human. You don't have to worry about all those calories we just ate. Me, I'm going to have to patrol for twice as long every night for the next month. But it was so totally worth it. I loved it." Apparently, her mouth wasn't going to stop anytime soon. "The whole dining experience was amazing. Thank you."

He'd been staring at her in surprised disbelief, but he automatically murmured out a faint, "You're welcome," eyes crinkling as he tipped his head to study her, the upturned corners of his mouth hinting at a smile.

"I mean it. Thanks for inviting me. Or, well, I guess Dawn…" And, huh, the mysterious _he_ did know her little sister was a minor. And had suggested another family member – _for example, an older sister_ – be the one to have dinner with him. Buffy scrunched her nose, wondering if Spike had planned to spend this evening with her all along.

Before she could follow that train of thought, Spike had stood and was holding his hand out to her. "Next up is a private tour of the set. Very backstage, VIP pass type stuff. It's just a short walk from here."

She took his hand without conscious action, her brain still whirling. It had to have been a purposeful set up because he _did_ know Dawn, and he could have easily awarded her an alternate prize, a prize that didn't require her older sister to do the accepting. But why would Spike _want_ to have dinner with her? They were enemies. Mortal enemies.

Her mortal enemy was leading her from the restaurant, hand at the small of her back, and behaving in a very non-mortal-enemy-ish fashion. He was behaving very gentlemanly, in fact. Spike was so close she could smell his cologne – god, he smelled good – and she froze on the sidewalk in front of _La_ _Rue_ , completely wigged.

"What is this, Spike? The five star restaurant, the prize you knew Dawn couldn't claim, the suggestion that she offer it to me… Is this a date?"

"A date? Please! You are completely off your…" Spike's bluster trailed off into strained silence. The hand that had been at the small of her back now rested on her hip, since she'd twisted to confront him, and he glanced down at it with a hard swallow, fingers digging a little deeper. "Do you want it to be?"

She stepped out of his reach, eyes squinched shut, blocking out the sight of his naked vulnerability. "Spike…" Buffy had no idea what to say. Anyone else, she'd have immediately said _yes_ , but this was Spike. Evil, vicious, murderous, pain-in-her-ass _Spike_.

"I know it's unexpected. And I know what you're thinking – that I'm not a man, that I'm evil, and all the rest of it. But if you'd not known me before tonight… You enjoyed dinner, yeah?"

"I did…" she said faintly, eyes still shut tight. Bad enough she could hear the desperation in his voice; she wasn't going to witness it in full Technicolor glory, too.

"Including the company?"

" _Despite_ the company." Buffy gave in, opening her eyes to glare at the ground between their shoes. "Spike, this is wrong. So, so wrong."

"Don't think of me as Spike the Vampire. Think of me as Spike the Cooking Show Host."

She turned her glare on him. "But you are a vampire. A vampire who's tried to kill me, multiple times in case you've forgotten. _I_ haven't."

"I've changed, Buffy. Something's happened to me –"

"That chip is not change!"

"Not the chip! I mean, yeah, that's part of it, but… it's the show. It's changed me. I'm not just the Slayer of Slayers anymore, I'm… something else entirely, now. Someone else entirely. Someone _good_."

Buffy laughed. She couldn't help herself. "I asked you if you were good not twenty minutes ago. You said no."

"Hadn't realized it yet, had I? But I am – well, maybe _good_ is a step too far, but I'm not murdering anyone –"

"Because you have a chip!"

"I _wouldn't_ murder anyone. Even if I could. I – I don't want to." He rolled his eyes disgustedly. "God help me, Slayer, _I don't want to kill_. Not anymore. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She stared at him, at his fervent, earnest visage, and realized that he believed it. Even if she didn't. "You're saying that if you got that chip out tomorrow…"

"Wouldn't kill anyone. Not to eat, not for fun." He paused, gaze going distant. "Not anyone human, at any rate. I reserve the right to kill any demon who pisses me off." He turned his gaze back on her, so intensely focused she was certain he could see right into her soul.

Buffy hid her shiver. "You just, what, needed a purpose? Something to distract you from the blood lust?"

"Sounds ridiculous, don't it, when you put it like that? But…" He shrugged, his crooked smile self-depreciating. "I suppose it's the truth."

He really believed he'd changed, that much was obvious. Did she? Buffy thought about his behaviour tonight, about his behaviour over the past several weeks, and realized that Spike did seem different. Less angry, less vicious. More thoughtful.

Less _evil_.

"I'm not saying that I believe you. And I'm not saying that I trust you. I'm definitely not agreeing that this is a date." Mostly because she wanted it to be one, a little too much. And, _oops_ , because she already had a boyfriend. _Bad_ Buffy. Blame the memory lapse on her having been totally knocked off-kilter by the idea that Spike might have any feelings for her other than seething hatred – and vice versa. "I have a boyfriend, Spike, so a _date_ is completely moot. But I am willing to entertain the possibility that you are changing, or trying to change, and maybe even for the better." With a sniff, she said, "I did enjoy dinner, and even your company, weirdly enough. And I'd like to take that tour now."

God, that smile – that blinding, brilliant, _real_ smile, aimed her way – was a lethal weapon in its own right.

"After all, how often do I get the chance to take a backstage, VIP tour of the hottest show in town?" She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow, and nudged him to lead the way. "With the host as my guide?"

"Always knew you were a smart one, Slayer."

"I sure am. Say, do I get an autograph as part of this prize package?"

Spike laughed. "Give you a whole pallet of autographed books, if you want. Anything you want, love."

 _Love_. Buffy swallowed hard, It wasn't just an obnoxious pet name anymore, was it?

Part of her was revolted by the idea – what did it mean if an evil, soulless vampire thought he loved her? – but the part of her that was in the middle of a very enjoyable not-a-date with a very respected possibly-not-evil-anymore celebrity thrilled to it.

Boy, was she twisted.

Spike continued to be charming and personable, showing off his set, telling funny stories, even whipping up a cup of her mom's hot chocolate for her as though he belonged in the kitchen rather than in the killing fields. Eventually he wound the tour up, even though she could tell he'd been dragging it out as long as possible, repeatedly thinking of just one more thing to show her. She'd been having too much fun to call him on it, and she put it down to her compartmentalization skills. She was with Spike the Celebrity Cooking Show Host tonight, not Spike the Vampire, so there was no reason to feel guilty for enjoying his company.

"Walk you back home, love?"

Buffy hesitated. Walking her home was a little too date-like to be rationalized away, but she wasn't ready for the evening to end, either.

"Um…"

"Or maybe I'd best give you a lift." He eyed her feet, brows beetled. "You walk all the way to _La Rue_ in those shoes, Slayer?"

"Nah, Mom dropped me off. It's only a mile or so, though; I can manage. That's one of the perks of Slayer healing: even if I regret it tonight, the blisters will be all healed up by morning."

Spike smiled at her, warm and affectionate, and offered her his arm. "Want to hang on to me? Slayer agility or no, no point in risking a twisted ankle even if it's temporary, eh?"

Buffy swallowed, oh so tempted to let Spike walk her home, arm in arm and dressed to the nines like they were a couple out on a fancy date. She even had a solid excuse to feel up his rock-hard biceps and lean close enough to breath him in the whole way. The combination of _Eau de Spike_ and _Biceps de Spike_ , in conjunction with another few minutes of _Company de Spike_ , proved too tempting to resist.

"Thank you," she said, taking his arm, and _ohmygod_ had she just batted her eyelashes at him too? She had. She totally had. Just call her Buffy the two-timing ho.

Maybe he'd sensed that she was about to run off despite having accepted his offer, because he laid his other hand atop hers where it rested in the crook of his elbow and started them off towards Revello. "I have a special treat for Dawn, seeing how she was such a good sport about giving up her prize to you."

"I wouldn't exactly say she was a good sport…"

"Either way, it wasn't fair to her. She deserves a prize of her own."

Maybe he really was changing. Kindness and thoughtfulness weren't exactly the hallmarks of an evil vampire. "She'd like that. What is it?"

"Gonna invite her to be part of the studio audience. With an adult chaperone, of course."

"I'm sure Mom would love to go with her."

He side-eyed her, mouth twitching when he realized she was being purposefully obtuse and fishing for an invitation of her own. "Was thinking more of a Slayer-shaped chaperone. We've got that non-violence spell on the studio so she ought to be safe as houses, but it is still a primarily demon audience. I'd feel better if you were there to keep an eye out for her. Your mum's welcome too, of course."

"Dawn's got a half-day on Wednesday and I have no afternoon classes, so we could come then. I'm sure Mom can get off too."

"Then it's a date."

It was Buffy's turn to side-eye him. The smug grin he sported suggested his word choice was deliberate. She let it go rather than argue; less-evil-than-usual or not, Spike was certain to take any sort of acknowledgement as encouragement. To put them back on safer ground, she said, "Why a cooking show? You told me how it happened, but I still don't get _why_ the Big Bad wanted to host a cooking show."

Spike was silent for several minutes, gaze distant as they walked. "At first, it was a lark. This bloody chip in my head had made me a pariah in the demon world, especially after I turned on my own kind, but all that changed once I started appearing on Tash's show. All of a sudden, I was respected again, and as lame as the new source of that respect was, especially for the supposed Big Bad, I liked it. I wanted more. Not to mention the promise of regular dosh, just for running my mouth on something as easy to talk about as food."

She _hmmed_. "You said 'at first'. And now? Is popularity really that big a draw for William the Bloody?"

"Oi, _respect_ , not popularity!" he said with a mock growl. "Although, can't say as I mind the adoring fans, either."

Buffy remembered those adoring fans – mostly girls, as she recalled – and had to suppress her own growl.

"But there _is_ more to it now." Grimacing, he said quietly, "Food – _good_ food… it makes folks happy."

He didn't say anything else, leaving Buffy to wonder just what he was getting at. "And… you like making folks happy?"

His grimace deepened. Then, with a rueful chuckle, he shrugged. "Guess it's not much of a secret, but… talk about a rep killer. Me, William the Bloody, the Biggest Bad to ever stalk the Hellmouth, gets off on makin' someone's day a little bit brighter." He drew them to a sudden halt, his fierce, fang-laced scowl incongruous against the suit and tie. "You tell anyone I said that, an' I will find a way to kill you, chip or no chip!"

"Oh, don't worry, your secret's safe with me." Who would even believe her?

They resumed walking, Spike still tense and scowly, Buffy silent as she contemplated everything he'd said. As they turned the corner to her street, she suddenly spoke, startling him into a lurching misstep. "Hey – what on earth makes you think that _you_ were the Biggest Bad to ever stalk the Hellmouth _?_ " She made sure to mimic his accent as awfully as possible as she repeated his words.

Spike laughed. "That's obvious. You're the best Slayer the world's ever seen."

Buffy couldn't help but preen at that, even though she was sure _best ever_ was probably an exaggeration.

"An' I'm the only Big Bad you've never managed to kill. Ergo, Biggest and Baddest."

"Happy to remedy that!" She produced one of her craftily hidden stakes, making him squawk and flinch away. Buffy grinned, feeling more like herself than she had since the moment she'd realized Spike was her mystery date for the evening. Nothing like a good threat of violence to chase away her warm and fuzzies and reestablish the natural order of things.

"Now, now," he said, recovering quickly. He wrapped a hand around hers and gently moved the stake away from his heart. "Wouldn't be sporting, an' you know it. Especially now that I've turned over a new leaf." Spike led them up her steps, to her front door. "Besides, Slayer, you don't want me gone."

Eyebrows raised, she said, "I don't?"

"Of course not. Keep things interesting, don't I?" He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers. "Thank you for a lovely date."

Having already established that she was a terrible girlfriend ( _and a two-timing ho!_ ), she didn't immediately push him away like she should have, but instead closed her eyes with a small, soft sigh. Spike took it as an invitation to continue – and it had been, hadn't it? – and leaned in to kiss her again.

Buffy returned the kiss, just for a moment, before putting her hands to his chest and backing away. "Spike, I… I'm flattered. But I have a boyfriend, you know that."

"The boyfriend, right. Look, I'm sure Riley's a nice enough bloke, but he's not the long haul guy, Buffy, and you know it."

She sighed inwardly, thinking that was probably true considering how grumpy Riley had been for weeks now, but she wasn't about to admit it to Spike. "And you are?"

"Would be, if you'd let me." He took her hand, thumb caressing her knuckles. "Know this is unexpected and you need time to think on it. 'M perfectly willing to wait for as long as it takes. You're worth the wait." Spike brought her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips over the same path his thumb had taken, gaze locked on hers with avid intensity. "Don't think it'll take too long, though. You know there's something between us. You feel it too."

"Loathing," she said weakly. Then, more firmly, "Disgust."

"Heat," he murmured. Spike brought his other hand up to cup her face, tracing his thumb across her lips. He smiled when she shivered. " _Desire_."

Buffy was really, really good at compartmentalizing – she'd compartmentalized away that day she'd spent snuggled up in his lap, the pair of them kissing the heck out of each other – but the memory of how Spike felt beneath her hands, how he kissed, how his arms felt around her, was right there, unable to be stuffed back into its box. She couldn't deny the attraction she felt to him and his cocky smirk said he knew it.

"Say I am attracted to you. It's not enough."

"It's more than simple lust, pet. We work well together. We complement each other. And as we've proven tonight, we get along when we're not trying to piss each other off."

Had he taken Dawn's salesmanship course too? His counterarguments had more truth to them than Buffy would ever admit. She tried another tack. "I can't be in a relationship with somebody I don't trust."

"But you can, Buffy. Trust me, that is. Let me prove it to you."

Yesterday, she would have laughed in his face at such a declaration. Today, she half-wanted to let him prove it. "You don't know how right you are when you say this is totally unexpected. This morning, you hated me! So far as I knew," she added when he opened his mouth to protest. "When did you – why me?"

Spike chuckled. "Have you met you? You're amazing. Glorious. Breathtaking. A goddess."

He drew her close again, hands moving to rest on her waist, and she didn't protest. How could she after that little speech? The warm and fuzzies were back, twice as warm and fuzzy as before.

"An' to answer the other, I fell for you long ago. Before that first truce, even. Didn't realize it until a few months ago, though."

Her hands had migrated to his biceps – _Biceps of Spike: yum!_ – and his mouth, still moving, drew her gaze. _Lips of Spike: double yum!_ Though he continued to speak, her brain was all awhirl and couldn't focus, stuck as her thoughts were on _Lips of Spike_ and _Kisses of Spike,_ and how much of a two-timing ho would she be if she kissed him now? They'd already kissed, so fidelity was right out the window for today, and she was probably going to break up with Riley, she could admit that now, so one more kiss couldn't hurt, right?

She licked her lips, and Spike stopped his rambling and swallowed, hard.

"Buffy?"

She didn't answer, only leaned in and captured his mouth with hers. He groaned and drew her tight against his chest, and she was lost, lost, lost to the world. Spike tasted like sin and chocolate and she could never get enough of him, couldn't remember any reason she should stop. Buffy twined her leg around his, getting closer still, feeling his delicious hardness –

The porch light flipped on and the door flew open. "Buffy, are you ho-oooh, _what the_ –" Dawn stared at them, eyes huge and mouth agape. "Oh my god! Now I know why you thought it was a porno!" she squealed, and slammed the door back shut.

Spike blinked at the door, bemused and dazed, and turned back to her, still blinking. "Porno?"

"Um. I'll tell you later. I should probably –" She gestured at the door, feeling as dazed as he looked.

"Yeah, okay."

They disentangled and stood there awkwardly, looking everywhere but at each other.

"Guess I'll be off, Slayer…"

"Yeah…"

Spike made to leave, but she put a hand on his arm. "I have a date tomorrow evening with Riley."

His eyes went wide, expression devastated, but he quickly schooled his visage to impassivity. "Well, good for you."

"I'm thinking it should probably be my last one." _Because cheating is a huge no in the world of Buffy._

He stared at her. "Wha –?"

"So you can pick me up Sunday evening for patrol. Say, at ten?"

His mouth worked silently for a moment as he mouthed _Say, at ten?_ in disbelief. With a little shake, he regained his composure, and cleared his throat. He cleared it again, his whole body trembling, but he was beaming. "Yeah, love. I'll see you at ten. On the dot."

"Okay, then." She'd wanted a second date. Now she had one. "Goodnight, Spike."

"Night, Buffy." Spike bit his lip, then huffed out a dry laugh and pulled her to him for a quick, hard kiss. He let her go and turned with a flourish.

Buffy watched him go as he sauntered down the sidewalk, whistling jauntily. She put her fingers to her tingling lips and wondered at herself.

Oh god, what had she done?

She supposed she'd find out on Sunday.

The End


End file.
